


The Life He Built Without Them

by AnyaYanko



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A “Last Person in the World” Love Story, Bittersweet, But Sad and Serious, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, M/M, Open Relationships, Platonic Bed-sharing, Platonic Cuddling, Polyamory, grief and mourning, sharing of beds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22988515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnyaYanko/pseuds/AnyaYanko
Summary: In a world where The Battle of Hogwarts claimed even more casualties Harry struggles to build a new life without his best friends.With Ron and Hermione gone Harry feels like he’s lost his family all over again, but Dumbledore is still there for him to lean on and help him grow strong again.With his old mentor and friend, and - surprisingly - his old enemy, Draco Malfoy, Harry manages to find love and happiness once more.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Harry Potter, Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Others
Comments: 33
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reposting in chapters for ease of reading and in hopes of reaching more readers. One chapter each day. Ten chapters total.
> 
> Really would like to see more hits for this as I think it’s one of my best stories. But maybe people think it’s too depressing?

The worst thing was he wasn’t with them when it happened. Someone had to break the news to him and take him to their bodies.

He should have been fighting by their side, protecting them. Instead he had left them to fend for themselves, thinking they’d be safe with half a bottle of Felix Felicis and the Hogwarts teachers on their side. He was wrong. He’d returned to the site of a massacre.

Ron and Hermione lay side by side on the stone floor, close enough to be cuddling, like lovers in bed. Hermione’s bushy hair tumbling over Ron’s shoulders mingling with his carrot-coloured curls. Their hands intersected on the left, fingers looking to lock.

Someone had closed their eyes and their faces were smooth and peaceful. Harry had a mad urge to lie down and join them. He couldn’t bear was standing over them, on the other side of the divide.

Grief swept over him like a tidal wave and he fell to his knees and began to wail, the sound growing louder and louder until it seemed to overtake him and he became a scream with a boy at its heart, rather the other way around.

**

If there had been anyone else left Harry would not have turned to Dumbledore for comfort - there was just too much bad blood between them - but then, there was no one else left, so when Dumbledore held out his arms, he ran into them gratefully.

'They were all I had,’ he sobbed. ‘My only friends in all the world. Now I’m all alone. I don’t have anyone anymore.’

His voice rose on the last words to the high pitch of desperation as the utter bleakness of his situation overwhelmed him. He had no family and no friends; No one who loved him.

‘That’s not true,’ Dumbledore replied, rubbing his back. ‘You have me.’

His hand moved in steady circles; a motion that, against all odds, truly managed to be soothing.

‘I know I haven’t been there for you as much as I could have. I should never have left you alone with the Dursleys. But if you’ll let me now, I’d like to play a bigger part in your life.’

His hands settled in the small of Harry’s back, fingers criss-crossing in a cradle.

Harry took a deep breath, tears stinging his cheeks, and whispered his assent. It felt like a covenenant, an unbreakable vow, as he tangled his fingers in the headmaster's beard.

'Don't ever let me go.'

**

There was a public memorial for all the people who’d died at Hogwarts with floating lanterns let loose across The Great Lake, each flame burning for a life that had been extinguished too soon.

Private funerals were reserved for families but Harry was invited by those held by the Weasleys, the Grangers and the Longbottoms and felt compelled to attend.

‘Would you like to say a few words?’ Mrs Weasley asked just before their service.

Harry shook his head, his mouth full of ash. He had never felt less like speaking.

‘I understand,’ Mrs Weasley said gently. ‘What about afterwards? Would you like to come back to The Burrow? I don’t know what your plans are for the summer but you’d be welcome to come stay with us for as long as you like.’

Harry shook his head again. No, no, no. He could just picture it now: Ron’s old room, cleaned and tidied, with all his clothes and books packed away and the bed stripped bare. Cool and vacant; Ready for a new occupant.

How could Mrs Weasley suggest that he step into that empty space? _I killed your children!_ He thought desperately, wanting to scream the words out-loud. _Your children are dead because of me!_

When he saw their coffins laid out in a row at the front, in cherry wood as red as their hair, he broke down completely into violent sobs. He pushed Mrs Weasley away when she tried to comfort him, unable to bear her touch. It hurt him far more than Voldemort’s touch ever had.

‘I’m staying at Hogwarts over the break,’ He told her, wiping his face clean. ‘Dumbledore says I can, now I’m of age. Then when term starts I’ll go back for my final year.’

Mrs Weasley nodded.

‘Yes, yes. That sounds like a good plan, dear. If you need anything though, anything at all, just let me know. There’s plenty of room here if you change your mind.’

Plenty of room.

**

Hermione’s funeral was just as bad, if not worse. As muggles, the Grangers had only dim impression of what had been going on at Hogwarts, which had only been worsened by the memory charm Hermione had cast on them. Dumbledore had reversed the spell but they were still under the impression that Hermione had been killed in something like a school shooting.

‘The headmaster says you took down the killer?’ Mrs Granger murmured. ‘Thank you for that. You must have been so scared. Hermione always said you were so brave though. The bravest boy she’d ever known.’

The praise hurt worse than Cruciatus and Harry begged her to stop.

‘It’s my fault she’s dead,’ he confessed. ‘I couldn’t get to her in time. I couldn’t save her. I’m so sorry.’

He started crying again, feeling that he had cried more in the last few weeks than at any other time in his life.

Mr Granger put one arm around his shoulders, the limb hanging like a weight, heavier than lead.

‘You did the best you could,’ he told him. ‘You were a good friend.’

And Harry couldn’t contradict him, as much as he wanted to. The Grangers would never understand.

**

He didn't want to sleep in the dormitory anymore with empty beds all around. It was just too quiet without Ron’s steady breathing and Neville’s heavy snores.

He tried to close his eyes and let the darkness take him but soon gave it up and took to wandering the hallways.

He might have walked all night had he not come across Dumbledore. The headmaster made it seem like an accident but Harry was sure he had come out to find him. Sensing, in the way he always did, that he was needed.

‘It seems we are both sleepless tonight,’ he remarked calmly. ‘I expect the dormitory feels too big for just one person?’

Harry nodded. ‘I miss Ron,’ he whispered. ‘I miss all of them.’

‘Of course you do,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Would you perhaps like to come back to my room with me? I can make up another bed.’

Harry accepted gratefully and the headmaster took him up to his tower bedroom where he transfigured a chair unto a single bed in a matter of seconds and tucked Harry up into it.

‘You can have my special quilt,’ he said fondly, laying it over him. ‘It’s rather marvellous, don’t you think? My friend David made it for me many years ago.’

Harry stroked at a patchwork rose whose petals were made of velvet and silk in burgundy, crimson and fuchsia.

‘Do you like the design?’ Dumbledore prompted. ‘It’s based on the Fairy Stories of Hans Christian Anderson. That’s the twelve princes being transformed into swans by their wicked stepmother.’

He indicated a procession of pretty blonde boys that smoothly transitioned into a flock of white birds, the edges of their wings picked out in threads of silver and gold.

‘Do you know the story?’

Harry confessed that he did not. The Dursleys had never told him any fairy stories, although he knew the main ones, (Sleeping Beauty, Snow White and Beauty and the Beast), from the Disney movies Dudley had watched when he was little.

‘It’s quite lovely,’ Dumbledore said and proceeded to recount the story in it’s entirety.

Harry listened contentedly, soothed by the sound of Dumbledore’s voice and the weight of the warm quilt upon him. By the time the story was done, Harry’s eyelids were already drooping and Dumbledore left him to sleep with a whispered goodnight.

**

The nightmares came like wolves in the night, tearing Harry open in a frenzy of claws. He woke with a start, panting and gasping and shivering with fright.

‘Harry?’ Dumbledore’s voice said in the darkness. ‘Are you alright?’

Harry mumbled some nonsense, wiped at his face and slipped out of the bed, instinct driving him towards the headmaster.

Dumbledore had lit a candle by the time Harry reached him and was gazing up at him uncertainly. Harry hesitated and then crept forward, tugging at the blankets.

‘Can I?’

He didn’t need to say anything more. Dumbledore held out his arms in silent acquiescence and Harry tumbled into them.

It felt like the most daring thing he had ever done, his confrontation of Voldemort not withstanding. It was certainly the most intimate. He felt a little ashamed of himself for behaving like such a baby but Dumbledore didn’t seem to mind at all.

‘You stay here as long as you like,’ he told Harry tenderly.

Harry buried his face in the old man’s beard and breathed deeply. Dumbledore smelt surprisingly sweet, of peppermint and tea and something fresh and zesty, like pine needles. It was nothing like Sirius’s earthy musk or Uncle Vernon’s nasty cologne.

‘I used to share a bed with my brother sometimes when we were travelling,’ Dumbledore reminisced. ‘We always fought a lot, but it was nice to have each other close. We could whisper to each other late into the night.’

It was strange to hear Dumbledore speaking so fondly of his brother, given how distant they were now. Aberforth could barely talk about Albus without spitting.

‘Did you ever share a bed with your cousin?’ Dumbledore asked Harry.

‘Once,’ Harry mumbled, recalling the time they’d been forced to share. ‘It wasn’t a very nice experience though.’

Dumbledore chuckled. ‘No, now that I think about it, I imagine it wouldn’t be. You’re lovely though. So small and snuggly. No trouble at all.’


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reposting in chapters for ease of reading and in hopes of reaching more readers. One chapter each day. Ten chapters total.
> 
> Really would like to see more hits for this as I think it’s one of my best stories. But maybe people think it’s too depressing?

‘What are you going to do today?’   
  
Dumbledore asked at breakfast, the two of them alone in The Great Hall; Another empty room filled with empty chairs where people used to sit and would never sit again.

Harry shrugged.

‘You could practice flying on the quidditch,’ Dumbledore suggested, ‘or go read in the library.’

‘I don’t know,’ Harry replied. ‘Maybe I’ll just go back to bed.’ The dormitory did not seem so daunting in the daylight and there was nothing worth being awake for.

Dumbledore thought for a moment.

‘Perhaps you could keep me company in my office and help me with work,' he suggested. 'There’s a lot to do before the start of term.’

Harry looked up at him with surprise. 'You’d really want me in there with you?'

‘I would,’ Dumbledore said solemnly.

'Oh,’ said Harry. ‘Alright then.'

**

It felt very strange to be on the other side of Dumbledore's desk, especially when Dumbledore started explaining the inner workings of the school; Secrets that no student was supposed to know.

‘This is The School Register,’ he said producing a very large and ancient-looking book with a worn leather cover. ‘It records the names of all children born gifted with magic. This is where we’ll get this year’s class list from.’

He cracked open the book and showed Harry a long list of names and dates. ‘These are all children who are turning eleven this year. I’ll read out the names to you and you can write them down for me.’

Harry did as he was told, printing each name neatly on the parchment in front of him.

‘Are these all of them then?’ Harry asked, when Dumbledore was done. The list looked rather small.

‘No, there will also be a couple of other students who are arriving late due to illness or other unfortunate circumstances, or coming from abroad to study in England. I have a list of those students here.’

Dumbledore waved his wand and another piece of parchment flew out of one of the desk drawers and into his hand. He handed it to Harry who dutifully copied out these names as well.

’Good,’ Dumbledore said, beaming at him. ‘Now, we’ll have to make another list of all the Muggle-born students. The Ministry need a copy for their records.'

‘Doesn’t the Ministry have it’s own way of finding out the names for themselves?’

‘The Ministry have their own ways of locating witches and wizards but they do not have a book like this. It is very old and incredibly powerful.’

Dumbledore leant over Harry and ran a finger down the list he had made.

‘There are ... four muggle-borns this year. Luke Adams, Sanjay Bakshi, Christopher Curtiss and Arabella Holmes.’

‘How do you know they’re muggle-born?!’

‘Well, I know because I’ve been around long enough to recognise all the names of the established wizarding families,’ Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. ‘If you wanted to know, you would check The Register.'

He flicked to an earlier page filled with names and dates that seemed to go back hundreds of years.

‘These are the lineage records for the Lestrange family. You can see that Rodolphus and Rabastan were the last ones to attend Hogwarts. The family name might have died with them if it wasn’t for their cousin Quillan who just had a son, Gideon, to carry it on.’

‘Oh,’ said Harry. ‘So what about ... ‘ he glanced down at his own list, ‘Christopher Curtiss, then? Would you be able to tell he’s muggle-born because he doesn’t have a page for his ancestors?’

‘Yes and no,’ Dumbledore replied. ‘No one in his family will have ever attended Hogwarts before but there is still a page for them.’

He waved his wand and the book’s pages fluttered open to a section that was almost entirely blank. At the top of the left hand page was written: Christopher Curtiss (18th June 1987 - ).

‘The first in his line,’ Dumbledore said proudly. ‘With any luck, he will start a new line of witches and wizards that will endure for many years to come.’

Harry copied out the same four names twice on two pieces of parchment and then prepared the acceptance letters, equipment and reading lists, and addressed and packed the envelopes. It was a bittersweet thrill to imagine the recipients opening them and marvelling over their contents.

‘Will you send all the letters out today?’ Harry asked.

‘All except these four,’ Dumbledore said, plucking out the letters for Adams, Bakshi, Curtiss and Holmes. ‘I will deliver these personally. Come, let us go up to the owlery.'

**

Dumbledore and Harry stood, side by side, and watched as thirty-four owls took flight into the sky. Once the last bird had dipped over the horizon Dumbledore took Harry's arm and led him back down the stairs.

'There's something else I'd like you to do for me,' he told him. 'I think it would be nice if you could accompany me on my visit to each of the families of the muggle-born students. I'm sure they would appreciate speaking with a current student who’s also from a non-magical background.'

Harry shot Dumbledore a quizzical look. 'Is that ... usually done?'

'No,' Dumbledore admitted, 'but I don't usually have any students close to hand.' He gazed down at Harry imploringly. 'I would truly appreciate it.'

Harry would not deny Dumbledore, even though the thought of being held up as a role model made his stomach twist.

'Ok. If that’s what you want.’

**

Harry expected the parents to react agrilly, as the Dursleys had done, or with baffled disbelief, like parents in movies when miraculous things happened, but Mr and Mrs Adams only eyed Dumbledore with a quiet suspicion.

'I don't understand,’ murmured Mrs Adams. ‘Did someone recommend Luke for this school? His teachers or the council or something?'

'No, no,’ Dumbledore replied. ‘Hogwarts actively searches for eligible students. It’s a school for students with very special abilities. Have you ever noticed Luke doing anything especially remarkable or unusual, seemingly impossible even?'

The couple exchanged a look.

'Well,' Dumbledore continued, 'that is what we call magic. Hogwarts is a school for children gifted with magic. Under supervision they will learn to control and develop their abilities, brewing potions, reciting charms and casting spells like this.'

Dumbledore transformed the carnations on the table into butterflies which all flew away leaving the vase empty.

Luke gasped with delight.

'I could learn to do that?' He asked. 'For real?'

'If you are a good and attentive student.’

'No,' Mrs Adams said suddenly. 'We're not going to send him away to boarding school.' She turned to her husband. 'He doesn't need to go, does he?'

Mr Adams looked uncertain. 'Emily, you said it yourself, he has to learn to control himself. Things can't go on the way they have been.’

'You have a choice, of course,' Dumbledore told them. 'However Luke will be a wizard, whether or not he comes to Hogwarts and if he does not receive any instruction he will never learn to perform magic safely. Underage wizards are not permitted to practice by themselves and you would not be able to teach him. There are other school, but they are all abroad so Luke would have to travel even further away if he were to study at any of them.'

Mrs Adams screwed up her face. 'Do you at least have a brochure?'

A brochure! Harry almost laughed out loud, It was so ridiculous. But then, to his uptmost suprise, Dumbledore reached into his cloak and took out a bundle of papers. It looked nothing like the sleek, glossy booklets that Muggle schools provided but there were photographs of Hogwarts and lists of the teachers and classes.

'Look!' Luke exclaimed excitedly. 'The pictures move!'

They all seemed quite impressed by this although Mrs Adams was still very concerned.

'Might we visit?' She asked Dumbledore.

Once again, Harry expected the headmaster to say no, but was surprised.

'If you wish. The location of the school is a secret so you will need to travel there by magical means. I can arrange for transport before the start of term.'

He turned to Harry, smiling brightly at him. 'You may also wish to ask Harry some questions about the school. He is a current student about to start his seventh year.'

Obediently all three Adams’s turned their attention upon Harry. Harry blushed, glad that Dumbledore had just purchased him new clothes from a muggle shop so he was neat and tidy and ordinary looking.

'Hogwarts is a wonderful school,' He began awkwardly. 'Really.'

Mrs Adam gave him a searching look. 'Is it ... safe though?'

Harry hesitated, his stomach aching. He know he ought to say yes, and if he'd been asked the same question a couple of years ago he would've done. But now, he couldn't push away the fact that one hundred people had died there last year, many of them his dearest friends.

'Not entirely,' He munbled. 'I mean, it's probably the safest place to stay and study magic, but the magical world can be quite dangerous. There are bad witches and wizards as well as good, and lots of dangerous creatures.'

He glanced at Dumbledore, afraid that he had let him down.

'Obviously the teachers are wonderful and do everything they can to care for and protect the students. As long as you follow the rules and don't do anything reckless you should be fine. Accidents only really happen when students go into areas that are out of bounds or try advanced magic by themselves. Even if anyone’s injured Madame Pomfrey, the school nurse, can mend broken bones in seconds and even do things like grow back limbs - in the worst cases.'

Mr and Mrs Adams stared at him grimly, not at all reassured.

'Thank you for being honest,' Mrs Adams murmured.

Luke was the only one who seemed unconcerned.

‘Is that a real witch's broom?' He asked, pointing at Harry's Firebolt. 'Can you fly on it?'

'Yes! Would you like to have a go?'

'Oh no!' Gasped Mrs Adams. 'I'm sorry Luke but you can't possibly ride on that thing!'

'Why not?' Luke demanded. 'Oh, please mum! It's flying! I have to try it!'

'Harry is a very good flyer,' Dumbledore said. 'He won't let Luke come to harm.'

They relented eventually and Harry took Luke out into the garden and sat him down on the broom. He was struck by how small the boy seemed, hardly taking up any space at all. Harry locked his arms around his waist and cast a binding spell just to be sure.

Was I really this small at eleven? He wondered, as Luke gasped and shrieked. This vulnerable? The truth was he'd probably been smaller - pale and stunted from a childhood in a cupboard.

They flew about for twenty minutes, using the grey clouds for cover, and then gently swooped back down to the garden.

Luke was flushed when he ran into his parents, and trembling with excitement.

'I have to go to Hogwarts,' he said tugging on his mother's arm. 'I have to learn to fly and play quidditch - just like Harry!'

**

'You did very well,' Dumbledore said as they left the little terrace house. 'You really helped to put their minds at ease.'

Harry said nothing but walked a little closer to the headmaster, the sleeves of his coat brushing against the sweep of the old man's robes.

'I was especially pleased with how you dealt with Luke,' Dumbledore continued. 'You were very kind and gentle and didn't talk down to him at all.'

Again, Harry said nothing.

'I'm sure it must have crossed your mind that I would make you Head Boy for your final year.' Dumbledore continued, suddenly. stopping and turning to Harry. 'I would very much like to do so but I will not unless you agree to it. It is your choice.'

Harry looked away. 'I know everyone else expects it.‘

'Yes, they want you to be a hero. The one that everyone can look up to. A symbol of victory and champion of the light.'

Dumbledore’s sapphire blue eyes glittered perceptively.

'But you don't want to play that role. You do not feel you deserve it.'

Harry sighed and shook his head.

'I'm sure that you would be more than capable of being a remarkable Head Boy,' Dumbledore continued. 'You've shown time and again that you have the right qualities for leadership: Strength, bravery and compassion. So I must ask, would you be willing to accept the position, not for yourself, but for the sake of others? There is so much that you could do to help them.'

Harry thought about all the students who'd spent their time at Hogwarts scared and confused, as well as the fresh batch of first years who would not know the castle and it's ways. He could at tell them where to go and what to do. He could let them know that everything was okay.

'Okay,' he said quietly. 'I'll do it.'

Dumbledore smiled down at him, a trace of tears in his eyes. 'Thank you, Harry.'

The badge appeared in his hands, glittering gold in the dark, and he leant down to pin it on Harry's lapel.

'I'm so very, very proud of you.'

Harry looked down at the badge and saw that the design was slightly different from the previous year's.

'This isn't like Ron or Hermione's,' he comented 'Is it a new badge?'

'No,' Dumbledore replied. 'It's a very old one.' He tapped the metal shield fondly. 'It's mine.'


	3. Chapter 3

Harry continued to work by Dumbledore's side each day, sometimes doing simple things like sending messages and writing lists, and sometimes more complicated ones like organising the houselves and ordering supplies. He was grateful to have something to get up for each morning.

He was quickly learning all of the school's secrets. Even his father would have been surprised by some of the things Dumbledore had shown him.

When the light started to fade they went up to Dumbledore's room to read or listen to the wireless together.

'Are you staying tonight?' Dumbledore always asked just before the clock chimed nine.

And Harry’s answer was always the same. 'Yes, if you don't mind.'

He needed the warmth of the headmaster's body and his calm, soothing voice to keep the nightmares away.

Dumbledore told him fairy stories, following the pattern on his quilt, and Harry listened to them all contentedly with heavy-lidded eyes.

He wondered whether this was what it would have been like to have been raised by his parents. He had never been held so tenderly before or made such a fuss of. It made his weary heart ache.

**

There were only two Gryffindor boys who returned to repeat the year alongside Harry - Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. Although they had never been that close before they all hugged each other in greeting and stayed up late talking.

The rest of the dormitory was filled up with boys from the years below and even though it was strange to see Ron's bed taken by someone else he was glad to have it filled. The sound of steady breathing and rustling sheets was all he needed to help him feel safe.

**

Boys and girls kept coming up to him to ask for his autograph and Harry wasn't sure how to deal with this. In the past it had always felt false and foolish, but there was an earnestness to the requests now, as if it really meant something to them, and it seemed cruel to refuse.

Harry stopped to sign in notebook after notebook, each time with a brief personal message.

To Tobias, Welcome to Hogwarts! I hope you have a great first year. Best Wishes, Harry Potter.

To Seraphina, Keep practicing and fingers crossed you'll make the team next year. Ravenclaw could use a seeker like you. Best Wishes, Harry Potter.

To Dante, Love your new gobstones set! Good luck with the next tournament. Best Wishes, Harry Potter.

Students gathered round in a patient circle and accepted their autographs with a hushed reverance, eyes shining with graditute. Harry felt like a saint being worshipped.

He kept wondering what his old potions master would think if he could see him now. How Snape's lip would curl! But he was gone, along with Professor McGonagall, Sprout and Flitwick, and the new Potions Master - Euphemia Orwelle - only looked on fondly. Harry was one of her favourite students.

**

Harry found it relatively easy to step into the role of Head Boy, helping students who were lost or afraid and reprimanding those who were causing trouble. He kept expecting people to tell him to back off and leave them alone but instead they accepted his instruction humbly, as they would from a teacher.

Harry thought that he was channeling Hermione a little, especially when he told off his fellow gryffindors for messing about in the common room but he had also picked up some of Dumbledore's mannerisms which made people sit up and listen.

'Gilford McBride!’ He called out to a first-year Slytherin. 'Duelling is not permitted in the hallways! Put that boy down and return his ears to their usual size.'

Gilford jumped and released his classmate and the other boy fell to the ground with a bump. He winced and rubbed at his oversized earlobes which slowly begun to shrink.

'How do you know my name?' Gilford asked.

Harry had learned all the student's names without even trying, having seen so many lists in the headmaster's office.

'You know my name don't you?' Harry replied playfully.

'Of course! You're Harry Potter!'

'That's right,' Harry smiled. 'Nice to meet you. I only wish it could have been under different circumstances. Let's hope you make a better impression the next time we meet.'

He was surprised how confident he sounded and how easily the boy bowed to his authority.

Harry had been loved and hated in his time, famous and infamous in turns, but never respected and admired in such an uncomplicated, enduring way. He felt a tiny thrill of pleasure, a warm rush of satisfaction beneath the cotton wool layer of numbness.

**

'Have you given any thought to what you might like to do after Hogwarts?' Dumbledore asked one sunny day, as they were out walking. 'Would you still like to be an auror?'

'No,' Harry replied with certainty.

'I thought not,' Dumbledore with a sad smile. 'Well, perhaps Quidditch then? You won't be short of offers. Scounts usually come for the final match at the end of the year and they're sure to be impressed by your flying.'

'I daresay they'd take me on reputation alone,' Harry quipped. 'It would be a great boast for any team to say they have the great Harry Potter on their side. Certain to draw a crowd.'

'I know you would hate that, but you are hardly without talent. You would deserve any offer you receive and be welcome to accept it if - ' Dumbledore gave Harry a searching look, '- if you want it.'

Harry turned away, gazing out across the lake and listening to the early morning birdsong.

'I don't,' he said softly. 'That sort of life ... it just wouldn't suit me. Not anymore.'

'I understand,' Dumbledore replied. 'Then might I make one more suggestion?'

'Please.'

'Have you ever considered teaching?'

Harry thought back to that long-ago time when he'd been running the DA and the idea of teaching had first crossed his mind. It had seemed so natural and easy a profession. The only thing that had held him back and made him hesistate was ... well, his destiny.

'I have,' he admited. 'I would like to.'

'Defence against the Dark Arts?'

Harry nodded. 'But there's so much I don't know.'

'You've had rather a haphazard education,' Dumbledore said smiling, 'but I'm sure we can fill any gaps.'

'You would teach me?'

'Of course. I’d be happy to, but I would also recomend training in another school. It used to be customary to assist an established teacher in their classes before taking up a teaching post yourself.'

'You mean ... at Bauxbatons or Durmstrang?'

Harry didn't fancy trying to learn French or Bulgarian, especially in such a short time. He had never had any skill with foreign tongues, except for the language of snakes, and even that had left him the moment Voldemort died.

'I was thinking Ilvermorny, the American school. They have a whole department for Defence against the Dark Arts so there will plenty for you to do and I think it will be good for you. A new place, new people. Lots of new and exciting experiences.'

Harry thought about it. Despite everything, the prospect still glittered in his mind. He craved fresh scenery and adventures to keep himself occupied. He could still be happy ... sometimes.

'I'd miss you,' he said softly.

'I'd miss you too,' Dumbledore replied, the corners of his eyes crinkling. 'I'll write to you though and visit as often as you like. Distance is nothing when magic is involved.'

'No, I know, but ... ' he glanced down at his feet. 'I'd miss you at night.'

He still slept in Dumbledore's room every night in the holidays when everyone else was gone. He loved snuggling up against the headmaster and hated the idea of staying all alone in a strange room hundreds of miles away.

Dumbledore reached out and put an arm around his shoulders.

'We'll have time together in the future. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here waiting for you when you're done.'

**

Dumbledore went down to Hogsmede with Harry before he left and bought him new clothes, books, parchment and quills.

'It feels like back to school shopping,' Harry said.

'It is,' Dumbledore replied.

They aparated to Massachusetts and then flew up to the school. Dumbledore walked round with him, introducing him to the staff. They all said they were delighted to have him there and seemed to really mean it.

Evander Tremaine, the head of the Defence Against The Dark Arts department, was especially welcoming, shaking his hand heartily and beaming at him. Like Moody, his face was decorated with a lattice-work of fine, thin scars. However, unlike Moody, he was young and good-looking with dark skin and a mane of long, curly hair.

'You will take care of my boy, won't you?' Dumbledore asked him playfully. Just like a dad, Harry thought, blushing with pleasure.

‘Of course,’ Evander laughed. ‘Can you imagine the trouble I’d be in if anything happened to Harry Potter on my watch? After everything he’s been through.’

‘I’ll hold you to account even if he’s not happy,’ Dumbledore told him sternly.

‘You can’t do that,’ Harry muttered, growing redder still. He was still unhappy a lot of the time.

When the time came to say goodbye Harry hugged Dumbledore tight and buried his face in his hair. Dumbledore made no attempt to move until Harry did and even then stood still for a long time, playing with Harry’s hair and gazing into his face.

‘You know how important you are to me,’ he said softly.

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

‘I’ll come and see you soon, I promise.’

**

Alone in his little room Harry felt like crying but the tears wouldn’t come. He hadn't cried properly for months and wondered whether his ducts had finally dried up. His body couldn’t possibly have an infinite supply.

Unpacking his trunk, he found that Dumbledore had tactfully packed a couple of bottles of sleeping draught, enough to get him through his first few nights, and a copy of Hans Christian Anderson’s Fairytales. It made him want to cry more than ever.


	4. Chapter 4

It soon became apparent that the students of Ilvermorny worshipped him with an even greater passion than the ones at Hogwarts. All they knew of him was stories with none of the ugly, inconvenient details so they considered him a true, flawless hero.

In class, Harry felt like a distraction as the students kept craning their heads to look at him instead of looking at the board or attending to what Professor Tremaine was telling them.

Harry made himself as useful as he could, fetching parchment and quills, and watching from the back for signs of trouble.

One day, during duelling practice, a girl fell down in a sudden faint. Thinking she'd been injured Harry rushed over to lift her up and cast a reviving charm upon her. It was only when she nestled into his arms and her friends all started giggling that he realised it had been a set-up.

'You'll need to watch out for that,' Professor Tremaine told him later. 'Half the girls here are in love with you and won't hesitate to throw themselves at you. I probably don't need to tell you this, but relationships between students and staff are completely forbidden, even if you are only a trainee and a year or two older than them.'

'I would never even think about it,' Harry said hotly. The day's stunt had done nothing but annoy and humiliate him. He felt he'd been made a fool of.

'I wasn't accusing you,' Tremaine said gently. 'I know you had a girlfriend who died in the battle of Hogwarts. I can’t imagine you’re ready for dating yet.'

Harry shook his head. 'No, not yet.' He never thought about Ginny, if he could help it. It was just too painful.

'It takes time,' Tremaine assured him. 'If you're anything like me. My fiance was murdered, back when I was an auror. It's not something you just get over and move on from. The pain never goes away but ... it does get easier.'

‘Thank you,’ Harry said quietly, honoured the man had chosen to share this with him. ‘It’s good to know.’

**

Harry could never love Ilvermorny the way he loved Hogwarts but he soon grew comfortable there. The school had a personality and charm all it's own and he was fond of all its grand marble columns and high ceilings.

Amongst the first years there were plenty who viewed the school as a sanctuary, as Harry had done, and chose to stay during the holidays. Harry watched them carefully, thinking about his first year at Hogwarts and what it had meant to him to be somewhere he truly belonged.

They all seem so young, he wrote to Dumbledore. It feels like decades since I was a child.

You wait until the children you teach turn into adults and have children of their own, Dumbledore wrote back. I've taught practically every witch and wizard alive today and I think that's the real reason people regard me with such fear and respect. I knew them when they were boisterous little brats and repremanded them for throwing bat-bogey hexes and blowing baloon-head bubblegum.

The letters made Harry smile and he found himself confiding in Dumbledore more and more, writing to him as often as once a day and recieving almost as many letters in return.

'You're tiring my babies out,' Mr Erwin, the owlkeeper complained. 'Can't you just stick to your own bird?' He indicated the tawny owl that Dumbledore had bought him.

Harry was embarrassed and resolved to cut down to one letter a week and make them extra long instead.

At the end of each month Dumbledore sent him a care package filled with all his favourite sweets, bottles of butterbeer and new socks. Harry returned the favour, sending Dumbledore the best American candies and quibbler-esque magazines.

Bolder in print than in person, Harry signed his letters, Love from Harry, and once even wrote the words, I love you, for the first time in his life.

Dumbledore responded, Loving you and missing you so much, and signed his letters, With all my love, which made Harry's heart ache pleasantly.

**

They met in New York in the Christmas break and spent three whole days together shopping, eating and watching Broadway shows.

They shared a hotel room with matching twin beds that evoked a brotherly feeling, despite the age difference between them, and stayed up late whispering secrets.

'Have you made any friends?' Dumbledore asked.

'Not real friends, good friends like Ron and Hermione, but I get on pretty well with the other teachers.'

'I'm glad,' said Dumbledore. 'No one ... special then? You're not seeing anyone?'

Harry meant to say no but hesitated a second too long. 'Sort of,' he mumbled. 'It's not serious though.'

He felt ashamed to be starting a relationship afrer what he said to Professor Tremaine. Helena Foxlowe had caught him by surprise. She'd be so earnest and persistent.

Dumbledore smiled with understanding. 'Maybe not "the one" but "the one for right now"?'

Harry nodded, a lump in his throat. 'Ginny was the one,' he whispered. 'At least, I thought she was.'

'I know.'

'Helena's nice though,' Harry mumbled. 'Fun and nice to hang out with.'

'That's good,' Dumbledore said. 'It's healthy to be open to new experiences. You never know where they might lead. It doesn't take anything away from what you and Ginny had. She'd want you to be happy.'

'I dunno,' Harry mumbled, twisting his lips. 'I think she'd be pretty jealous.'

‘The dead are very understanding. It's the living that suffer.'

He fell quite for a while, leaving Harry to puzzle out the statement.

‘So tell me about Helena. How did you meet?'

Harry let out a laugh. 'She's a journalist, if you can believe it.'

'You didn't give an interview did you?'

'No, she's a sports writer. Came to Ilvermorny to cover the quidditch.'

'Is she pretty?'

'Yes.'

Helena had shoulder-lenth caramel curls and bright blue eyes but what Harry liked most was her mischievous smile. She grinned like a Cheshire Cat and purred with satisfaction.

'Good,' Dumbledore said. ‘I’m glad for you.‘

**

On their final night together they squeezed into one bed and cuddled up just like they used to. Dumbledore nuzzled at his neck in a very Sirius-like way.

'Are you sniffing at me?' Harry asked

'Yes,' Dumbledore replied, without a hint of shame. 'I like the way you smell.'

'What do I smell like?'

'Just like you,' Dumbledore said happily. 'I miss it, when you're gone. Have to get my fill now.'

Harry told him he was weird old man but then admitted, 'I do it too', because it would have been mean not to.

'You always smell so sweet. It must be all those sweets and tea.'

'Don't I smell of old magic and old parchment?' Dumbledore asked with surprise.

'That too,' Harry laughed, 'but not so much. Perhaps I just don't know the smell of magic. I've never been that great at sensing it. I suppose you do smell like nice old books though.'

It was a comfortable intimacy and Harry couldn't help but wonder once again whether this was what family felt like.

**

By Easter, Harry's relationship with Helena had already reached a bitter end.

Dumbledore came to see him as soon as he heard, appearing in an explosion of floo power. Harry didn’t even wait for him to step out of the fireplace before throwing his arms around him.

‘She did a story about me.’

‘I saw.’

‘She promised she wouldn’t.’

‘I know. It’s a terrible betrayal.’

Harry told Dumbledore about the row they’d had just after the article was published and Dumbledore listened attentively, with a face soft with sympathy.

'She claims the paper changed it without her permission, adding things she never wrote, but I told her I didn't want anything written about me at all.'

'That's right. You were quite clear.'

There were other things Harry could not tell Dumbledore. How he had tried and failed to lose his virginity to Helena. How she had said it didn't matter but had looked at him differently after that, as if he was broken and defective.

'I think she was dissapointed in the real me,' Harry said, 'after hearing so much about my adventures. She wanted me to be some sort of hero and I'm ... I’m just Harry.'

'There are many who will see the myth and not the man,' Dumbledore said gravely. 'You will have to work hard to open their eyes.'

Harry was quiet for a time.

'Sometimes I worry I'll never be able to get truly close to anyone new. That they'll never know the way that Ron, Hermione and Ginny did.’

'I understand. You experienced so much with them. You had a unique bond.’

Dumbledore offered no solutions, no assurances, and Harry was glad of it. He didn’t want empty platitudes, just someone to listen and be there for him. It was what he'd always wanted, growing up, and what he'd never had.

**


	5. Chapter 5

Returning to Hogwarts felt like coming home. He had his own office now and bedroom too, both big and bare and ready for him to make them his own.

Dumbledore helped him decorate, taking him to shops and suppliers all over London and making useful suggestions. Harry would have had no idea where to start otherwise. He'd never had a place of his own before.

He’d settled on styling his office after Professor Lupin's with mostly practical equipment and interesting specimens, and decorated his bedroom in red and gold like the Gryffinfor dormitory. Dumbledore made him a gift of several pretty ornaments and, on the night he moved in, his special patchwork story-quilt.

‘I can’t,’ Harry protested when Dumbledore tried to hand it to him. ‘Your friend gave it to you.’

‘And now I’m giving it to you,’ Dumbledore said determinedly, stooping down to tuck the quilt into Harry’s bed.

Harry sat down and ran his hands over the familiar shapes.

'Can I ask you something, Sir?'

'Anything, Harry. Although you needn't call me "Sir”, anymore.'

Harry grinned. 'Sorry, bit of regression. I was just wondering ... your friend, David ...was he more than just a friend?'

Dumbledore was quiet a moment, then nodded. 'Yes. More than a friend.'

'Like, a boyfriend then?'

'No. A little less than that.'

'I dont understand.'

Dumbledore regarded him with a very sad and very weary expression.

'Rationships can be very complicated and messy. Especially for men like us.'

Harry was confused by this comment and was wondering how he could tactifully correct the headmaster when Dumbledore clarified.

'Famous men with remarkable reputations and private pain.'

'Oh,' Harry breathed. 'Okay.' He hesitated. 'Can I ask you something else? One more thing.'

'Ask away.'

'What happened to David? Is he still around?'

‘No,' Dumbledore said, confirming Harry’s suspicions. 'He died a long time ago, while we were in our early forties. Not as young as some perhaps, but still young. Gone before his time.'

'How?'

'An illness. A Heart Attack, I believe.'

‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

'It's alright.'

Dumbledore sat down on the bed beside Harry.

'Sometimes God takes with one hand and gives with the other. I’ve suffered many losses but I've still had a good life with many good friends.'

Harry blushed. ‘I know what you’re saying,’ he said, knocking their knees together. ‘It’s not very subtle.’

'Well, subtly was never my strong suit. Grand proclamations and portentous speeches but never subtle implications.’

**

Harry struggled with his first class. He did not have Professor McGonnagall's gift of keeping control with a look and his students whispered and giggled and passed notes to each other.

By the time the lesson ended he was shaking. He waited until the last student was gone before glanced over at the far wall. Dumbledore, who had been observing there invisibly, rematerialised and crossed the room to speak to him.

'I know I made so many mistakes,' Harry blurted out before the headmaster could say anything. ‘I saw Pearl and Hepzibah passing notes and didn’t stop them and I know Ruben didn’t understand what I was saying about Kelpies. He was just sitting there scribbling on his parchment, not following at all, and Alexandra was staring out the window daydreaming.’

‘Harry,’ Dumbledore said quickly, ‘it’s alright! It takes time to learn how to really lead a class and every class is different.’

He patted him on the shoulder.

‘You did very well.’

**

Even though they'd grown so close it took time for “Dumbledore” to become “Albus.” Harry was only just getting used to being a Professor, calling his colleagues by thier first names and his students by their last, and it was hard to break the habit of a lifetime.

The strangest thing though was to hear himself being called "Sir” by anyone other than Dobby. He winced when his students started and had to refrain from correcting them.

He had to remind himself was a teacher now, not a student. His position in the world had changed forever. He had been reincarnated.

**

Three months in he woke from a night terror with no idea where he was. Instinct guided him back up to the Headmaster's tower and before he knew what he was doing he was banging on the door. It was only when Albus appeared, weary and worried, that his brain started working again.

'I - I'm sorry. I didn't mean to - '

'What is it? What's wrong?'

'Nothing! I just ... wanted to see you.' He looked away, embarrassed.

Albus understood immediately. 'Bad dreams?' He opened the door wider. ‘How about a nightcap?’

He poured them each a glass of brandy from the crystal decanter and they sipped in silence for a while.

'Was it Voldemort?' Albus asked, quite casually.

'Yes,' Harry replied. 'It's been a while.' He tipped back his glass and let out a gasp. 'It was just a normal dream, not like the old ones, but it felt very real.'

Albus nodded. 'I expect he'll haunt your mind longer than he haunted the earth. My enemies haunted me long after everyone else forgot them.'

'Enemies?' Harry queried.

'Oh, yes I've had enemies,' Albus said breezily. 'Not everyone likes me. In fact, quite a few people find me quite infuriating.'

Harry smiled.

Albus flicked his wand and the crystal decanter floated over and hovered in the air beside Harry.

'Top-up?'

Harry held up a hand, nudged the decanter away. 'No that's enough.'

'Very good.' The stopper popped back in with a clink. 'Will you want to return to your room or would you like to stay over.'

Harry swallowed, his mouth sweet and sticky. 'Would that be okay?' He wasn't a child anymore. It might be awkward now.

'Of course,' Albus said, holding out his hand. 'You're always welcome.'

**

Harry liked having his own room as a retreat, to read or nap in or just be alone to think, but at night he always slept with Albus in his huge double bed, with the patchwork story quilt on top, back where it belonged.

Albus read aloud from novels, short story anthologies and poetry collections, while Harry made a nest out of his long silver hair. His voice never failed to soothe him, making him ready for sleep. He followed the words with his eyes like a child just learning to read.

‘Edmond gathered together the threads of Cassandra’s hair and swept them round to her collarbone, leaving her neck and shoulders bare. Slowly he kissed the exposed skin, unfastening each pearl button of her bodice and travelling down the path of her spine ... ‘

Harry shifted slightly against the headmaster. Albus wasn’t a big fan of romance so they rarely dealt with scenes like this and Harry didn’t want to own up to his discomfort. He and Albus always cuddled like this. It was normal.

And yet - Harry was very aware of their bodies and the fact they were two grown men. He had never really thought about Albus like that before. Perhaps because he was so old, and so much older than him. A grandfather figure if ever there was one; Wise and powerful and incredibly caring.

He lay as still as he could until the chapter was over then blew out the candles and rolled over. In the dark he debated whether to speak or not, but the itching in his brain was impossible to ignore.

‘Albus,’ he whispered.

‘Yes?’ Albus replied.

‘Do you ever, er, think about that sort of stuff. Kissing and - and stuff, I mean.’

There was an awkward pause.

‘I’m far too old to think about pursuing a relationship,’ Albus said eventually. ‘I was never that good at relationships. But if you’re asking if I gave the normal urges of any man then ... yes, of course I still do.’

‘Then how do you - ?’ Harry struggled to finish the sentence. ‘I’m always here. Aren’t I? In the way.’

‘Never,’ Albus said warmly. ‘I have time to myself in the mornings and the evenings. You take time for yourself too, don’t you?’

Harry’s cheeks burned hotter. ‘Yeah,’ he mumbled. ‘Sometimes, I mean, not that often.’

Albus chuckled lightly.

‘I was just worried,’ Harry confessed. ‘Perhaps you’d prefer more space. I could leave, if you wanted.’

Albus went quiet again. ‘I’ve been alone for over a hundred years, Harry,’ he said at last. ‘The last thing I need is more space.’

He rolled over again and found Harry’s arm in the darkness.

‘I like having you here. I enjoy your company. You know that.’ His grip loosened. ‘Unless ... you’re uncomfortable with this. What with me being what I am. I’d understand if that’s how you feel.’

‘No, no,’ Harry said urgently. ‘That doesn’t bother me. I don’t mind that at all. I  
love being here with you like this. I don’t want anything to change.’


	6. Chapter 6

At Hogwarts years could pass in the blink of an eye. Harry settled into the architecture, as much a part of the place as the Great Hall or the Astronomy Tower. He was astounded when he realised he’d been a teacher longer than a student, but in some ways it felt inevitable, as if he’d always been meant to be Professor Potter and his terrible childhood just a prelude.

One day, after class, he saw a familiar figure lurking in his doorway. A tall, pale young man with sleek blonde hair and a delicate, pointed face. When he saw that Harry had noticed him he greeted him with a smile.

‘Professor Potter,’ he said in a familiar drawl. ‘It’s been a while.’

‘It has,’ Harry agreed, giving Draco Malfoy back his smile. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I had some business in Hogsmede and thought I’d just drop in.‘ He gestured vaguely. ‘Hogwarts hasn’t changed much but ... you have.’

‘Have I?’

Draco’s lips twitched. ‘Of course. You’ve grown so old!’

‘You too,’ Harry said automatically, although it wasn’t true. Draco Malfoy still looked young and bright and full of life, perhaps even more so than he had done as a child.

He looked nothing like his father, although he had grown his hair out to his shoulders and tied part of it back behind his ears. He was thinner than Lucius had been, with slimmer shoulders and sharper facial features.

‘My son will be coming up to Hogwarts in a few years,’ Draco said, idly toying with the items on Harry's desk. ‘He turns nine in May.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Harry said. ‘It’s ... Scorpius, isn’t it?’

‘Yes!’ Malfoy replied, his face lighting up with pleasure. ‘He’ll be thrilled you remembered. You’re his hero you know.’

Harry stared at him.

‘Don’t look so surprised!' Draco laughed. 'You’re everyone’s hero!’ He set down the paperweight he’d been playing with. ‘Scorpius is always begging me to tell him stories of our time together at school.’

Harry wondered what stories Draco could possibly be telling his son. He couldn’t think of any where Draco came off well.

As if to answer Harry’s thoughts, Draco said, ‘He’s always telling me off for treating you so badly. It’s rather annoying.’

He laughed again and this time Harry couldn’t help joining in.

‘He would love to meet you,’ Draco said, leaning casually against the desk. ‘Perhaps ... you could come to dinner?’

Harry never dreamt he would receive such an invitation from Draco Malfoy, especially after so many years. Nor did he expect to hear himself accepting, but then what else could he do? Draco had asked so nicely and, besides, Harry was curious.

‘Alright.'

**

Harry put on in his best red and gold robes and fur-trimmed cloak before travelling by floo to Malfoy Manor. Draco Malfoy was waiting for him by the grate.

‘Don’t you look handsome,’ he said slyly. ‘Did Dumbledore give you those clothes?’

Harry looked down at his dragon-hide shoes. Albus had indeed given them to him last Christmas.

Draco laughed. ‘I’m right, aren’t I? He has a rather distinct style, the headmaster. A little ostentatious for my taste but it suits you very well.’

He clapped Harry on the arm - an affectionate gesture that Harry was not expecting - and steered him through the house.

‘Let me introduce to my wife, Astoria. Astoria, this is the great Harry Potter.'

A smiling woman stepped forward with a slender hand extended. She was nothing like he’d imagined. Exceptionally pretty with plump, pink cheeks and sparkling eyes. She grinned at him when he took her hand, showing her teeth in a way that reminded him - painfully - of Ginny.

‘Oh, I’ve heard so much about you. It’s wonderful to finally meet you.’

A fair little boy appeared next, cowering behind his father’s robes. He too, was a surprise. Smaller than Harry had expected, timid and delicate.

‘And this is my son, Scorpius,’ Draco said, beaming with pride. ‘Would you like to say, “hello” to Harry, Scorpious?’

Scorpius shook his head and hid his face.

‘Why are you acting so shy?’ Draco exclaimed. ‘He’s never like this, honestly!’

He knelt down and picked up the child, swinging him around and tickling him until he squealed. Then he balanced him on his hip like an infant.

‘Would you like a tour?’ He suggested. ‘We’ve done a lot of decorating since we moved back. You’d hardly recognise the place.’

‘Well, I’ve only been here once before,’ Harry reminded him, ‘and I was confined to basement for most of that time.’

‘Oh yes,’ Draco breathed. ‘I forgot.’ He turned to Scorpius. ‘That was when mad old aunt Bellatrix kidnapped Harry. Remember?'

Scorpius stared up at Harry with large eyes but said nothing. He stayed silent as his father led Harry round the house, showing him all the fine paintings and carpets, and only came alive when they reached the door at the end of the second-floor corridor.

'This is my room!' He squeaked excitedly, drumming his heels against his father's leg. 'Let me down! I want to show Harry!'

'That's perked him up,' Draco remarked, setting his son down.

The boy ran forward and pushed open the door revealing a large room with bright blue wallpaper and oak furniture.

'Look, Harry, these are my toy knights and castle! They really move and you can play all sorts of battles. You can play if you like. I'll be red and you can be blue.'

'We don't really have time for that,' said Draco.

Scorpius dropped the soldiers and ran over to the other side of the room.

'These are my books and my comics! Look, these ones are about you!'

He plucked down several paperbacks and thrust them at Harry. Harry saw, with alarm, that their covers bore cartoon versions of his own face.

'I never gave my permission for any of these,' he exclaimed. 'Never got any money for them either.'

Draco laughed. 'If only you'd been born a Malfoy. We'd never let anyone use our name without paying. Don't be too downhearted though. The portrayal's very flattering.'

He took one of the books and turned to the back, flipping it round to show Harry a picture of himself standing victorious over Voldemort's body. He was drawn far taller than he had been and more muscular too, with a handsome face and an expression of triumph.

'A far cry from the skinny little shrimp that I remember.'

Harry yanked the book out of Draco's hands and crammed it back on the shelf while Draco laughed.

'Tell me a story from when you were younger,' Scorpius demanded. 'A true story.'

Draco sighed. 'Harry's not here to tell stories. Anyway, you know them all already.'

'Tell me one I don't know,' Scorpius begged, flopping on his bed. 'What was your bedroom like when you were my age? What toys did you have?'

'I didn't have a proper bedroom when I was small,' Harry told him. 'My aunt and uncle didn't like me so they made sleep in a cupboard under the stairs.'

'A cupboard?!'

'He doesn't mean an actual cupboard,' Draco said quickly. 'Only that it was really small, like a cupboard.'

Harry gave him a look. 'No, I mean a literal cupboard. There was only just room for a single bed. The space was about four feet long and the ceiling was sloped under the stairs.'

He measured it out in the air with his hands. Scorpius was staring up at him again open-mouthed. Draco too, looked taken aback.

'These Muggle houses are very small though, aren't they?'

'Well, they're nothing compared to a place like this,' Harry, 'but my Aunt and Uncle's house was what most people would call "a comfortable size." Four bedrooms, although the largest was only about half the size of this one.'

'There were four bedrooms but they made you sleep in a cupboard?!' Scorpius exclaimed indignantly.

Harry shrugged. 'Only when I was little. They were terrified of magic and just wanted to hide me away somewhere so they wouldn't have to look at me.'

'Was it very uncomfortable in there?' Scorpius asked.

'Well there wasn't much room to move about and there were a lot of dust and spiders. My Aunt also still kept some cleaning stuff in there as well which made everything even more cramped.'

Draco was staring at him quite fixedly now, with his lips drawn tight. 'You lived like a house elf. I had no idea.'

His eyes moved to Scorpius as if he was imagining him being forced to live in such a small, unpleasant place.

'Your Aunt and Uncle were mad weren't they?'

'Yes, pretty mad,' Harry conceded. Then, thinking it best to change the subject, he said, 'Hey, how about I tell you the story of how I set a Boa Constricta on my cousin when we were visiting the zoo. You won't have heard that one before.'

Scorpius was delighted. ‘Tell me another one!’ He begged, as soon as Harry was done, but Draco said no.

‘We’ve got to get back downstairs now. Dinner should be ready in a moment.’

Scorpius whined and muttered in protest, like a much younger child, clearly annoying his father no end.

‘Scorpius,’ Draco said sternly, ‘I’m not playing now. Do as I tell you or you shan’t be permitted to eat with us at all.’

He reached for his son but Scorpius jerked away, twisting out of his grasp and clinging to Harry’s arm instead.

‘No, Daddy!’ He squealed. ‘Don’t beat me!’

Draco’s face twisted up in shock and disbelief. He turned to Harry. ‘I have never beaten him,’ he said in an incredulous voice.

‘Don’t listen to him,’ Scorpius insisted. ‘He’s a bad, horrible man! He’s going to lock me up in the basement and torture me! You have to save me, Harry !’

‘SCORPIUS! That is NOT funny!’

Harry broke out into laughter and - to both their surprise - leant down put his arms around Scorpius and picked him up. Scorpius was so surprised that he immediately went limp against Harry, nestling his head into his shoulder. It made something twist inside Harry’s heart; Scorpius was so warm and small and loving.

‘You shouldn’t indulge him,’ Draco hissed, shooting his son a dark look. ‘He’s a naughty, spoilt little boy who gets everything he wants.’

Scorpius said nothing to refute this, but cuddled closer to Harry, and murmured contentedly. So it was that Harry carried him back down the stairs and settled him into his chair at the dinner table. Scorpius tucked into his food enthusiastically, making no more mention of his father’s supposed ill treatment of him.

The evening progressed pleasantly from there, conversation following as easily as the wine, which all came from the Malfoy’s cellar. As always, Draco seemed to have the best of everything and Harry enjoyed the meal as much as any he’d ever had. Astoria was sweet and cheerful and quick-witted. Harry was sure that, if she wished to, she could have walked into any high-level Ministry job and ran circles around everyone around her, but she insisted she was content with her charity work.

‘Besides, the name Malfoy is still not welcomed in some areas, although we’ve done everything we can to earn back a place in society. People still hold what Draco’s father did against him.’

‘My mother still won’t return to England,’ Draco told Harry, ‘even though she’s been pardoned by The Ministry. Terrified of going to Azkaban after what it did to my father. He was never the same after he’d done his time.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Harry murmured.

‘It’s not your fault!’ Draco said sternly. ‘But thank you, anyway.’ He touched Harry’s arm lightly, hatching a fresh batch of butterflies in Harry’s stomach

It just felt so strange to be sitting next to Draco again, chatting with him and his family. He had spent most of his childhood trying to get away from Malfoy and now he felt desperate to keep him close. He was afraid that he might say the wrong thing and spoil everything. He didn’t want Draco to stop liking him.

Draco seemed keen to develop a concrete friendship though and when Harry looked the foundations were already there. They had so many shared experiences and interests. They could talk about Quidditch for hours.

‘I have tickets for the match in Barcelona next month,’ Draco told him. ‘A box, of course. You could come along if you like. Astoria doesn’t really care for it.’

Astoria pulled a face as if to say, I really don’t. Scorpius opened his mouth urgently, legs juggling under the table.

‘Scorpius will come, of course,’ Draco said quickly, anticipating what his son was about to say. ‘He’d love you to join us.’

‘I would!’

The butterflies in Harry’s stomach put on a show with loop-de-loops, like the Irish mascots, at the Quidditch World Cup.

‘I’d love to.’


	7. Chapter 7

The desperation to be close to Draco did not fade the more they spent time together. On the contrary, it intensified and Harry found himself seized by the compulsive desire to touch Draco all the time. At the end of their trip to Barcelona Harry found himself throwing his arms around Draco and hugging him.

Draco did not laugh it off. He accepted it, as if they’d been on a hugging basis for years, and embraced Harry like a brother. Harry couldn’t get over the feel of Draco’s slim, warm body against his, or the sensation of his fine hair ticking his cheek. He didn’t ever want to let go and had to force himself to release the man who had once been his enemy.

‘You’re such a soft-touch,’ Draco murmured as they parted. ‘The old man is rubbing off on you. Give Scorpius a quick hug too, won’t you? Otherwise he’ll be terribly jealous.’

So Harry knelt down to hug the sweet, fair-haired boy who was his father in miniature. Scorpius’s fingers pinched at his skin in a painful expression of affection.

‘Oh, I wish I could just steal you away and raise you as my own,’ Harry whispered to the little boy. He said it like it was a joke when really it was not.

‘Don’t give him hope,’ Draco said sternly. ‘Friday night dinners are more than enough.’

**

They had quickly developed their own routine. After dinner they went down to The Game Room to relax. There was a full bar and a pool table like in a Muggle pub, but everything hummed and glittered with magic. Draco offered him a Giltroot Cigar which produced bright, colourful smoke rings, when you smoked it.

‘I can’t believe you’ve never had one before! Although I suppose they are quite expensive. I have a friend who imports them. He gives me a good deal.’

Harry took the cigar and rolled it round between his fingers. ‘I’ve used Giltroot in potions before. I don’t know you could smoke it though.’ It was expensive, even dried and powdered in a tiny packet.

‘Ah yes,’ Draco’s pale brows furrowed. ‘The ... Featherlight Potion?

’Fairyfoot,’ Harry corrected him. ‘How did you ever get an ‘Outstanding’ in potions? Snape must have given you a break.’

Draco snorted dismissively. ‘Who cares what it’s called? I remember what it does. Makes you float, right?’

Harry nodded. ‘I assume that’s not what these do?’

‘Only figuratively.’

He produced a small, green flame in the palm of his hand and held it out. Harry hesitated then lit the cigar.

The first drag hit his lungs like a punch and he doubled over coughing and spluttering, much to Draco’s amusement. After a couple more attempts Harry got the hang of it, taking short, steady breaths, and they started to have fun with it.

Soon the air was filled with clouds of multi-coloured smoke as if a rainbow had exploded over their heads. Harry felt light and dreamy, like when he fell asleep in front of the fire and drifted in and out of reality.

He moved closer to Draco and slipped an arm around his waist. Draco didn’t seem to mind, leaning into him and smiling wide, emerald tendrils curling out of his nostrils.

What happened next took them both by surprise. Harry certainly didn’t mean to do it. But one moment he was looking at Draco, thinking about how much he meant to him, and the next he was leaning forward and covering his mouth with his own, trapping in the next puff of smoke.

The kiss might have lasted for just a second or an entire hour - time didn’t seem to be moving at its usual pace - but as soon as Harry’s brain caught up with his body he put an end to it, drawing back with a startled gasp.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he croaked, before dissolving into another coughing fit.

Draco was blinking at him vaguely, as if he’d forgotten who he was. ‘It’s okay,’ he murmured, his voice silky soft.

‘No, it’s not,’ Harry said wretchedly, raking his hand through hair. ‘I’m so sorry, Draco.’

Draco just stared at him blankly then, after a second, slid a warm hand onto to Harry’s knee. ‘Why are you apologising?’

It was then that Harry realised that not only had Draco made any attempt to break off the kiss, but had actually returned it.

‘You’re married,’ he reminded him.

‘Oh,’ Draco laughed. ‘That’s what’s got you so het up? You don’t need to worry about Astoria. We have an open marriage.’

Harry stared at him blankly. ‘What does that mean?’

‘By Hecate, I forget how simple you are! It means we sleep with other people.’

Harry screwed up his face. ‘I thought you loved each other.’ They seemed so happy.

‘We do love each other!’ Draco exclaimed. ‘Astoria’s my soul mate. I adore her - worship her, even, but that doesn’t mean I never want anything else. Anything ... different.’ He squeezed at Harry’s knee. ‘I like variety and so does she.’

Harry shook his head, unable to process this information in his half-drunk, half-drugged state.

‘I have to go. I can’t - I don’t - ‘

He struggled to his feet and Draco rose to meet him, placing his hands on Harry’s shoulders, steadying him.

‘Hey, that’s okay. Let me help you up stairs and then you can floo from the parlour. You can't aparate in this state.'

He seemed far more clear-headed then Harry even though he'd had more to drink beforehand. Perhaps because he smoked Giltroot and kissed men all the time, while Harry was new to both.

'Listen, if you wake up in the morning and want to pretend this didn't happen or that it was just because of the drink and the magic, then that's fine with me.'

He leant in close.

'I don't want it to ruin our friendship. It means too much to me.'

**

Harry slept like the dead, as he had never done before, even when he'd been literally dead, on the floor of the Forbidden Forest.

When he woke, Albus was stroking at his forehead like he did when he was sick, fingertips magically cooled.

'Hello there, Angel,' he said softly. 'You've been asleep for ever so long. Did you have too much too drink?'

Harry started to nod and then stopped because it made his head hurt. 'Alcohol and Giltroot.'

'Ah, that explains it.' His hand stilled, pouring ice into his skull. 'I expect you also did something unbearably embarrassing and never want to show your face at Malfoy Manor again.'

Harry closed his eyes and said nothing.

'Ah,' Albus said again. 'Well, whatever it is, I'm sure it isn't as bad as you think it is.'

'It is!' Harry groaned.

He proceeded to tell Albus the whole story, the words tumbling out in a mad rush. It was only once he was almost done that it occured to him that Albus might be disturbed by the news. To confide such a thing to the man he shared a bed with suddenly seemed obscene.

Albus's face wore the usual lines of concern and compassion, but his body had gone very rigid. Harry imagined the slightest hint of pain in his expression, dissapointment and jealousy.

'I - I've just never felt attracted to another guy like that,' Harry said, realising that it was probably the worst possible thing he could say. 'I'm so confused.'

'You don't need to apologise,' Albus told him. 'You've done nothing wrong.'

'But does it mean I'm gay?' Harry blurted out. 'Have I always been gay? Is that why we - I'm the way I am?'

'I don't think you need to redefine yourself quite so entirely. People are capable of a great range of feeling and attraction can be either emotional or physical or a mixture of the two.'

Albus's voice was quite calm. If his discomfort had indeed been real, and not imagined on Harry's part, then he already mastered it.

'You said you've been feeling a strong desire to keep Draco close and a far of losing him, as you have lost so many others from your childhood. It's possible your body is interpreting those feelings as sexual attraction.'

Harry frowned at him. 'That doesn't make any sense. My body can't just decide to make attracted to someone. It's instinct, isn't it?'

'Of course it is,' Albus said mildly, 'but the body reacts to all sorts of different and complicated input from your brain. You want to be close to Draco, to form a bond with him, and it's your instinct to do so in the most primal way - with sex.'

Harry considered this. 'Is it real then? Or am I just really messed up because I've lost all the people I most loved?'

'I would say both are true, Ablus said sadly. 'You are who you are today because of your experiences and those are very real.'

Harry picked at the sheets. 'Sometimes I wonder what I would be like if my parents hadn't been killed. If they'd been able to raise me. I think I would have been very different. So ... is that the person I was meant to be all along?'

'There's no "meant to be" about it. You are still you, but undoubtedly a different version of yourself.'

He was quiet a moment, then asked Harry, 'Is this something you think you would like to explore further?'

Harry looked away, shrugged. 'Draco seemed to suggest he'd be open to that.’

Albus's brows creased. 'Draco’s married though.'

'He says he and Astoria have some sort of arrangement. They're allowed to sleep with other people.'

'Ah,' Albus frowned deeper. 'I would advise you to confirm that with Astoria before doing anything. There are many married men who claim such things and then their wives tell a different story when the affair comes out.'

'Okay,' Harry agreed, although he couldn't envision any situation in which he would be able to speak to Astoria directly.

'Would you ... mind though? If I ... with Draco?'

Albus stared at Harry intently. 'Why would I mind?'

Harry traced his teeth across his bottom lip. 'Because of how close we are.'

Albus took a deep breath. 'I wouldn't want our friendship to get in the way of you experiencing new things with other people. I'm grateful for the companionship you've given me and I hope we'll always have this closeness, but I don't want you to feel trapped or isolated.'

His expression turned meloncholy.

'Hogwarts is a very beautiful school and we teachers live here like a family, but it can be very difficult to make connections beyond its walls. This is a place where outsiders are not permitted.'

**

Harry was plagued with doubt and uncertainty. His relationship with Albus Dumbledore was such a tight knot of confidences and intimacies that he could not even begin to untangle it.

They had begun to share a bed when he was still just a child but he was an adult now and had been so for a very long time. Grown men did not, as a rule, share a bed, and they certainly didn't cuddle and whisper as Harry and Albus did.

They had long ago agreed that the sexual part of their selves would be kept separate, safely concealed behind locked doors. Neither of them wanted that from each other.

And yet, a grain of doubt niggled at Harry. He remembered one summer's night, a couple of years back, where he had stripped off his pyjamas and laid down in just his underwear.

Albus had gotten all fidgetty. Asked him if he would like him to cast a cooling charm. Harry had declined.

'I'm fine,' he said, thinking nothing of it. It never occured to him that he might be making Albus uncomfortable.

The Prophet, which still published stories about Harry regularly, always described him as handsome, but Harry didn't trust anything he read in the papers.

If anything, all the hype about him being the wizarding world's "most eligible bachelor" made him all the more determined to believe that was still an ugly, skinny bespectacled kid.

Was he really good-looking enough to make Albus lie awake in the middle of the night, fretting over his feelings? Was there something else beneath the platonic, familial love?

The thought slithered round and round in his brain, like a snake trying to eat its own tail. He had to cage it just to move on. There was no reasoning with a serpant.

**

'If I were to ... experiment with Draco,' he whispered into the shell of Albus's ear, 'it wouldn't change anything between us.'

He must have sounded uncertain because Albus answered him as if it was a question.

'Not if you don't want it to.'

Harry tucked his hand under Albus's armpit, into the blanket of his beard.

'I always want to come home to you,' he whispered. 'I always want to sleep by your side. No one can take your place.'

Albus was heavy against him, as hot as an exposed organ; a heart peeled of its skin. Slowly he reached up and took hold of Harry's hand, squeezing it tight, and sealed the pact with his silence.

**

Draco acted as though nothing had changed until Harry made his move and then he met him with an open mouth. No fear or hesitation.

He tasted of fine wine and roast beef, the evening's dinner lingering on the tips of his teeth. It ought to have been disgusting, but it wasn't. Harry savoured the sensation, rolling his tongue in deep.

They came up for air and Draco smirked at him, as arrogant and self-satisfied as he'd ever been.

'Did you like that?' He teased. 'Do you want more?'

Harry did. They came together again, entangling their limbs, and settled down into a long, comfortable snogging session.

**

Astoria interrupted them around twelve, her pretty kitten heels clicking down the stairs. Harry jumped away from Draco, skittish and shame-faced, but Draco laid back casually, languid as a cat.

'It’s getting late, darling,' she said sweetly. 'Are you staying up down here?’

‘I might sleep in the blue room,’ Draco replied, slithering an arm around Harry’s shoulders. ‘Harry’s going to stay the night.’

Astoria glanced at Harry and then back at her husband. ‘Really?!’ She scoffed.

‘Yeah! Really!’

Astoria laughed derisively, her eyes glittering like a diamonds. ‘Alright then. Play nice.’ And she swept away, still giggling to herself.

Harry was sweating heavily and shivering, as though he’d been playing quidditch in the rain. He now felt convinced that Astoria knew exactly what was going on but her playful, teasing attitude just made him even more tense and fretful.

‘Is - is she really alright with this?’

‘Yes,’ Draco said dismissively. ‘She’s just surprised you’re up for it. You’re so straight, decent and upstanding.’

He pulled a face; his characteristic sneer of a smile, and then took hold of Harry’s robes, tugging impatientently.

‘Come on,’ he purred. ‘Let’s go to bed.’

**

Harry shed his robes reluctantly, allowing Draco to strip him like a lion skinning a gazelle. It was easier to let him unfasten the buttons then trying with his own trembling hands.

‘You look so nervous,’ Draco murmured. ‘It’s your first time with a man, right? Don’t worry - I’ll let you top.’

Draco seemed to think that taking a man was no different from taking a woman and took it for granted that Harry had experience with one, if not the other. Harry didn’t want to tell him that it was his first time ever. That, despite his age, he was still a virgin.

Thankfully, Draco seemed to know what he was doing. Completely naked, smooth and glistening, he knelt over Harry and guided him inside. He must have done something to make his body cleaner and more accommodating because he was surprisingly slick and soft. Harry had heard him muttering a spell, although he had no idea what it was.

Once Harry was fully sheathed, gasping and shuddering with the shock of it, he lay back and pulled Harry on top of him. Harry moved slowly, trying to get used to the feeling, and kissed gently at Draco’s face, throat and chest.

Draco went strangely still and Harry worried that he was in pain, even though his face was flushed and his legs spread wide and his heart beating nine to a dozen. He adjusted his angle and moved a little faster, stroking Draco’s thighs as he did so and whispering his name.

Draco stared up at him, eyes glistening like fresh-peeled fruits, and one spidery hand crept up to his shoulder.

‘You can hurt me, if you want,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t mind.’

Harry was confused. ‘Why would I want to hurt you?’

Draco blinked up at him silently, his thoughts his own.

‘Do you ... want me to be rougher?’ Harry asked anxiously. ‘Am I being too gentle? Do you want more...?’

‘No,’ Draco sighed, returning his hands to Harry’s waist and gripping tight. ‘Its fine. Just do whatever you want.’

**

The heat from their bodies kept them warm for hours, even when the last embers died in the grate and the night turned icy. Harry lay at Draco’s back, their limbs glued together with sweat. Draco was not as soft as Albus, or as tender, but he leant back into the embrace instinctually, like a child seeking comfort.

‘Harry,’ he whispered. ‘Are you awake?’

In response Harry skirted his fingertips over Draco’s waist, into the hollow of his hipbone, which was quickly becoming his favourite part of him.

‘I want to tell you something.’

‘Okay ... ?’

Draco shifted against him, smooth flesh sliding against smooth flesh, a neat configuration like a penknife in its case.

‘I’m sorry for what I did to you when we were children. For how I treated you. I’m so sorry.’

Startled, Harry said, ‘It’s okay,’ without even thinking.

‘It’s not okay,’ Draco snapped back, almost angrily. ‘I was ... awful to you.’

He began breathing heavily and Harry realised he was crying.

‘Please will you forgive me?’

‘Of course,’ Harry whispered back. ‘I forgave you a long time ago.’

Draco groaned. ‘You make it too easy. Why do you have to act so damn noble all the time?’ Then, ‘Thank you.’


	8. Chapter 8

Harry got up before the sun was in the sky, searching for his robes by the light of the moon. Draco sat up in the bed and watched him.

‘Why are you in such a hurry?’ He asked slyly. ‘Who have you got to rush home to?’

The question got under Harry’s skin, making it itch.

‘No one,’ he lied. ‘You know that. I just don’t want anyone to know I’ve been out overnight. People will talk.’

‘Fame is such a burden,’ Draco said mockingly. ‘I hoped you’d at least stay for breakfast.’

‘What with Astoria?!’

‘And Scorpius.’ Draco laughed. ‘Why not? I’ve never understood why people are so uptight about sex.’

He leant forward on the mattress pulling the quilt tighter round his shoulders in a makeshift cloak.

‘After the war I must have slept with hundreds of people - men and women. I wanted to experience everything and I didn’t have anything better to do.’ His eyes grew softer. ‘That was before Astoria, though. Our parents set us up, you know, it was all arranged, but I fell for her right away. She really understands me. All of me.’

Harry said nothing to this. He didn’t know what to say.

‘Here,’ Draco waved his wand and half a dozen little lights burst into life around Harry’s head. They flitted around him like fireflies. ‘They’ll light your way for you on your “walk of shame.”’

Harry blushed childishly. ‘Thank you. I - I’ll come round next Friday. If you want?’

‘Yes, if it still suits you.’

**

Harry collided with Albus on the stairs.

‘I was coming up to see you,’ He said. ‘I thought you’d still be in bed.’

Albus shrugged. ‘Ah, well, you know what I’m like.’

Harry did know what Albus was like. He probably knew him better than anyone else alive. Albus often worked long hours but he was never up this early.

‘You stayed out all night,’ Albus observed. An accusation?

‘Not all night,’ Harry protested. ‘I left before dawn.’

He took a step towards Albus, searching his unfathomable eyes. He thought he saw something flicker in the bright blue irises but couldn’t be sure what it was.

‘You were with Draco?’

‘Yes.’ Harry held his gaze. ‘Do you mind?’

‘I already told you I didn’t.’

Had he? Harry wasn’t sure. He had certainly told Harry that he wanted him to be happy, to pursue new experiences, but that wasn’t the same thing.

‘Did you miss me though?’ Harry pressed.

Albus hesitated. ‘I always miss you when you’re not there.’

He took a step down, squeezing into the space beside Harry. The candle in his hand flickered as if the flame was in danger of going out, even though it was enchanted to last as long as needed.

‘Did you ... enjoy it?’

Harry had never felt more embarrassed. ‘Yes.’

‘Will you be making it a regular arrangement?’

‘Maybe,’ Harry mumbled. ‘I didn’t really discuss it with Draco. He seemed keen though. You know we already have Friday night dinners and Quidditch matches.’

This was a profoundly stupid thing to say, as if sex were simply an extension of their friendship, but that really was how it felt to Harry. Good food, casual conversation, sports and sex were fast becoming the cornerstones of their friendship. Easy ways to connect and relate to one another.

‘It’s not romantic,’ Harry insisted. ‘It’s something else. I’m not about to fall in love with him.’ He struggled to articulate his feelings, aware that he was stumbling about in the dark. ‘He has Astoria and I - ‘ He stopped himself. ‘I don’t know what this is yet. It’s all so new.’

Albus’s looked sympathetic. ‘It may seem overwhelming. You should take your time. Figure out your feelings.’

Harry met the man’s icy gaze again. ‘I won’t stay with him again if you don’t want me to. If you miss me too much.’

Albus gave Harry one of his familiar searching looks, as if his eyes were searchlights sweeping over his soul. Harry had seen that look many times before but never in a situation like this.

‘You’ll be with me ever other night.’

It wasn’t phrased as a question but Harry answered it as if it had been, eagerly confirming his position.

‘Yes! Yes! Of course!’

‘Then I can’t be too greedy.’ Albus pushed a strand of hair behind Harry’s ear. ‘I have more than enough of you.’

**

Later, stretched out the Headmaster’s great bed, Harry reached for him, tugging him down by the silvery rope of his hair.

‘Read to me,’ he pleaded, as plaintive as a child.

Albus was fond and indulgent as always.

‘What would you like to hear?’

‘Anything.’

Albus read to him from Nightingale: Songs of Sorcerer.

‘My love, she is a unicorn, her hoofbeats soft and sure,  
She comes to me in moonlight; all clean and white and pure.’

Harry nestled his head into its usual position at the old man’s throat, where he could feel the vibration of each and every word and the steady pulse of Albus’s heart.

When the book was closed and the lights extinguished Harry cuddled up even closer to Albus and whispered in his ear.

‘What was it like ... your first time, with a man?’

Albus was quiet as he peered back through the mists of time, at the shadows of young lovers.

‘Intense,’ he confessed. ‘I was very young, at the time - only eighteen years old - and you know what teenagers are like. I thought I was in love.’

‘With Grindelwald?’

Albus had told him about his early love affair with the dark wizard in the same way that Harry had told him about all his childhood games and fantasies. They had agreed there would be no secrets between them and compared all the hidden scars that were not on show for all the world to see.

‘Yes,’ Albus confirmed. ‘He was so ... bright and vibrant, always laughing and talking nine to the dozen. His little jokes and speeches always perfectly worded and impeccably timed, with no hesitation. He was just so damn clever and confident. And handsome, of course. Devastatingly handsome.’

‘What was he like in bed though?’ Harry pressed on shamelessly. ‘What did you do together?’

‘Do you really want to know?’

‘Yes.’

Albus shifted on the mattress. ‘He was very teasing and ... forceful. I liked that though. Liked that he took control and didn’t hesitate. He was the one who took the dominant role. I’ve always preferred to be on the receiving end.’ He paused. ‘Is that ... what you meant?’

‘Yes,’ Harry said quickly. ‘Thank you.’

He plucked the lock of hair from his face and wound it around his fingers, thinking of long, fine unicorn hair and its cool aura of magic.

‘With Draco, I was on top. He seemed to think I would prefer it that way and I did, but I would have done it the other way if he really wanted to. I didn’t mind.’

He told Albus how it had been. So quiet and calm, for the most part, with the two of them moving and panting in the darkness.

‘It felt a lot like just jerking off,’ Harry admitted. ‘You know how it is, when you’re alone and just want to enjoy yourself. It didn’t feel too strange or intimate or involved. I thought it would be a lot more intense, like you said.’

‘I would have thought it would be quite explosive you two,’ Albus commented, sounding amused. ‘More like fighting. You were enemies once, after all.’

I don’t think that’s what either of us wanted from it though. We wanted to get closer to each other, wash all that bad blood away.’

He told Albus about how Draco has apologised to him and how they had touched each other gently and tenderly, like real lovers, in a post-coital embrace.

‘It’s wonderful that you were able to reconcile so completely. I know it means a lot to you to have someone like Draco, who knew you as a peer. He has become a true friend to you in these past few months and I see no reason why you couldn’t grow closer and closer in the years to come.’

‘Yes,’ Harry agreed. Then, ‘Thank you,’ as if this prediction were a gift that Albus was granting him.

**

The new Herbology teacher was quite young and handsome, with thick golden curls that reminded Harry of Gilderoy Lockhart. Perhaps because of this, he also thought the man seemed a little smug and self-important and was irritated by the way all the female students fawned over him.

‘Do you think he’s good looking?’ He asked Albus.

Albus quirked a smile. ‘Well, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed.’

For some reason this response really annoyed Harry and he rounded on the headmaster with a nasty scowl.

‘What do you mean? I sleep in your bed! I’d kick him out for you!’

Albus laughed good-naturedly. ‘Not all the time,’ he reminded Harry.

‘I don’t want him in there even when I’m away!’ Harry insisted. ‘I don’t want you sleeping with any other man ever!’

Albus raised his eyebrows. ‘Seems rather unfair.’

‘No it isn’t,’ Harry replied sternly. ‘I’d give up Draco too, if you wanted me to. I’m always telling you so. I don’t need anyone else other than you.’

His face began to flush then as he realised that the gnawing sensation at the pit of his stomach was jealousy; a sharp-clawed monster that he hadn’t felt for decades.

‘You are mine, you know,’ he added, in little more than a whisper.

‘Am I?’ Albus replied, lowering his voice as well and regarding Harry curiously. ‘In what way am I yours?’

‘You just are,’ Harry mumbled.

‘And are you mine?’ Albus asked.

This question seemed so stupid that Harry actually laughed out loud.

‘Of course I’m yours,’ he said, stating the obvious. ‘Utterly and entirely. I always have been.’

Dumbledore’s man through and through.

**

Harry stood staring out of a high window when he heard Albus approach. He knew it was him simply from the sound of his steps and the sweep of his robes across the floor. He did not bother to turn around but stayed where he was, gazing out across the grounds.

Albus slid into the space behind him, wrapping his arms across Harry’s chest as he must have done a hundred times before, and yet it felt different this time. When he brought his chin forward to rest on Harry’s shoulder Harry felt the little hairs on his neck all stand on end and he started to shiver even before the first kisses landed on his throat.

He stood very still as the man kissed and nuzzled at him, his skin prickling in response. There was a warm ripple down the length of his spine, a swift frisson of pleasure, but apart from that he remained utterly motionless. He wished he were a character in a film or TV show and could be assured that someone else would come in and interrupt before things could get too hot and heavy. He just wanted this moment, with all its sweet tension, without having to think about what it meant. As it was he was all alone and had to decide for himself whether he wanted to continue.

He sighed and slowly turned around, his hands slipping into the folds of Albus’s robes. He looked up into the man’s clear blue eyes, closed his own and leant in to kiss him on the lips. His mouth was soft and dry and they kissed chastely at each other without any attempts to open up and tangle their tongues.

When they moved apart, as one, Albus was smiling at Harry in such a radiant, happy way that it almost broke Harry’s heart.

‘I’m not sure how much of this I want,’ Harry whispered. ‘Physically, I mean.’

‘That’s okay,’ Albus replied, combing his fingers through Harry’s hair. ‘All that matters to me is that you love me as I love you.’

Did he love Albus Dumbledore in the same like that though? Harry wasn’t at all sure, a limbless creature of doubt wiggling around in his guts.

‘Can you read my mind?’ He asked.

‘Would you like me to?’

Albus’s hand slid down to the base of Harry’s skull, cradling the full weight of his brain in his fingers.

Harry closed his eyes and opened himself up. 'Yes,' he breathed. 'I want you to know.'

He felt Albus pushing in, not forcefully as Snape had done, but gently as with an unresisting door. Memories flickered across the inside of Harry’s eyelids, years passing by in a matter of seconds. He concentrated on the stream, plucking out pertinent moments, before finally replaying the last few minutes in full, recalling exactly how each kiss had felt.

The connection loosened, like a rope going slack, and Harry opened his eyes. Albus was still smiling at him.

‘I think I must love you a little bit more,’ he told Harry, ‘but that’s only to be expected. You are young and handsome and full of life, while I am old and lonely and full of melancholy.’

Harry fisted his hands in Albus’s robes, tears tricking down his face.

‘I love you more than anything else in this life. I swear.’

**

For once, getting into bed together felt awkward. There was that uneasy charge of potential; a tension that came when both people knew that something more could happen. Harry put his hands out to Albus’s chest, to push him away or pull him in close, he wasn’t sure which.

‘What if I never want to actually have sex?’ He whispered nervously,

‘That’s okay,’ Albus told him. ‘This is a big change in our relationship and our relationship has already changed so much over the years. I wouldn’t blame you if you still saw me as more of a father than a lover. I am old, old man. I don’t expect you to be attracted to me the way I’m attracted to you.’

‘Are you attracted to me?’ Harry wondered. Despite everything, it seemed impossible. ‘Have you always been?’

‘Obviously not always,’ Albus said, caressing Harry’s face. ‘I held you in my arms when you were still a baby. You’ve been a child to me almost as long as I’ve known you, even through your twenties. No, Harry, this is very recent.’

This much ought to have been obvious but Harry was glad it had been said.

‘I enjoyed the kissing,’ he told Albus earnestly.

‘I know,’ Albus said. ‘I’m glad. It means a lot to me that you want to be intimate with me like that. I don’t ask for the world, Harry. You have your own natural inclinations and I would never ask you to go against them. We need to take our time, experiment, and find where our boundaries lie.’

Harry leant forward to kiss the headmaster again. He had never felt so grateful.


	9. Chapter 9

Summer returned to Hogwarts, in all her glory, and Harry stopped to admire all the blossom on all the trees and the flowers sprinkled across the grass. The new groundskeeper - who was not really new but Harry still thought of her as such - had really outdone herself, cultivating a wide range of plants, both magical and non-magical.

After a while, Albus joined him and they sat together under the shade of a tree.

‘Are you free tonight?’ Albus asked him. ‘I would like it if you could come up and see me after dinner. At seven O’clock exactly.’

‘Seven O’clock exactly?’ Harry repeated. ‘You’re not usually so precise.’

‘My apologies. I have a surprise for you.’

‘A surprise?’ Harry said dubiously. ‘A surprise I need to be right on time for?’

‘Yes. If you come too late it will spoil it.’

‘And if I come too early?’

‘It won’t be ready for you.’

Harry plucked a flower from his feet and absent-mindedly began picking off its petals.

‘Alright. I’ll be there. At seven O’clock exactly.’

**

Harry walked into the suite nervously, glancing around for something large and ostentatious, perhaps covered in glitter and bows. There was nothing in the living room but a voice called out to him from the bedroom.

‘Harry? In here!’

It was too high and husky to be Albus, although there was something familiar about it. He followed it through and found - to his surprise - a beautiful woman sat upon the bed. He did not know her, although for a moment his heart leapt with recognition. She had long auburn hair that him made him think, foolishly, _Ginny!_ But then she turned slightly and he saw it was not her. The face was too long and the cheekbones too sharp.

‘It’s me,’ the girl said softly. ‘It’s Albus.’

Harry stared at her dumbly, unable to believe it. She was wearing a beautiful white dress with short sleeves that hung off her shoulders and a sweetheart neckline; something between a wedding gown and a nightdress.

‘How ... ?’

She raised one hand to her face. ‘It’s polyjuice mostly, with a little transfiguration. I kept my eyes.’ She indicated the bright blue irises. ‘And the freckles are mine too. I considered keeping my nose too but I thought it would rather spoil the effect.’

Harry looked closer at the familiar pattern of freckles across the girl’s nose and cheeks, the mole just underneath her chin. It was if Albus had fathered a daughter and she’d inherited all his markings like a cat.

‘The hair is mine too,’ Albus continued, running his fingers through the thick auburn tresses. ‘This is my natural colour. The girl I’m imitating is a blonde.’

‘Who is she?’ Harry asked.

‘A muggle girl. I took some of her hair from a salon in London. I can give you her name if you want it?’

‘No, thank you. It would be too weird.’

The girl nodded with understanding and then patted the bed beside her. ‘Come sit with me. Take a closer look.’

Harry did as he was bade, though unsure how much more he wanted to see. Absently he took the girl’s hands in his, turning them over to examine them.

‘She has pretty hands,’ he observed. ‘Although you have pretty hands too.’

The girl smiled. ‘It is sweet of you to say so.’

‘I like the nails. I suppose you could paint them like this anytime if you wanted.’

‘With a french finish?’

‘Is that what it’s called?’ Harry said vaguely. ‘I don’t know. It looks nice and natural. The pink and the white.’

The girl back squeezed his hands, her perfect nails glancing over his knuckles.

‘Would you like to see more?’ She asked, pulling away and reaching up to undo the back of her dress.

‘Oh no!’ Harry said urgently, grabbing for her arms. ‘Don’t! She might not like us looking.’ He blushed and then released her, feeling very stupid indeed. ‘I mean, she didn’t give her permission for any of this. It feels wrong.’

‘Like spying?’

‘Yes.’

‘I understand.’ A pause. ‘She might not mind though. She’s a model. She’s been photographed nude many times.’ The girl’s face flushed pink too then. ‘That’s how I found her.’

‘Even so,‘ Harry shook his head. ‘I just can’t. I’m sorry. It know it’s supposed to be a treat for me.’

‘No, it’s okay.’ The girl laughed self-consciously. ‘It’s just a bit of fun.’

‘Well, obviously you put a lot of time into it,’ said Harry. ‘You looked this girl up, stalked her to her local hairdressers, stole her hair and used it to brew a batch of polyjuice potion. All that couldn’t have been easy.’

‘I didn’t stalk her!’ Was the immediate, indignant reply. ‘She posted where she was going online, for everyone to see. There’s this thing called Instagram - ‘

Of all the words Harry would have expected never to hear come out of Albus’s mouth “Instagram” must have ranked within the top three. Thankfully, the word didn’t actually come out of Albus’s mouth but the pretty red-head’s, whose pouting lips were stained scarlet. This softened the shock somewhat.

‘How on earth did you access Instagram?’ Harry demanded. ‘Don’t you need a phone or a computer or something?’

‘I bought a phone.’

‘But you can’t use it at Hogwarts! The magical interference - ‘

‘I don’t use it here. I use it in London, to follow supermodels.’

Harry couldn’t help it; He laughed.

‘Following’s not the same thing as stalking, by the way. That’s just what they call it on Instagram, when you’re a fan.’

‘Oh, Albus!’

The girl smiled at him and scooted closer. ‘Please, won’t you at least kiss me? Make it all worthwhile?’

Harry sobered up at once. He hesitated then leant in to press a kiss to those lush red lips. The girl’s mouth was very warm and welcoming. Before Harry even knew what he was doing he was parting his lips and darting his tongue inside. The girl met him eagerly, kissing back with passion.

She still smelt like Albus, that sweet scent of peppermint and pine needles, but with a fresh scent on top of that - a hint of perfume sprayed on wet skin. It made Harry’s body go heavy, limbs turning to lead. He was afraid of what he was feeling but didn’t want to stop.

He let his hands creep up to the girl’s plump breasts, felt the warmth and weight of them. The faint current of a heartbeat pulsed through the left, growing stronger as he fondled it.

‘Perhaps we could get under the covers?’ The girl’s voice suggested, hot at his ear. ‘I can put the lights out if you prefer?’

‘Yes,’ he whispered back. ‘Yes, please.’

He wondered how long they had left and how long they had already wasted. An hour could pass by so quickly. It only took seconds for them to both undress and then the girl was naked beneath him and he was touching her, touching her, touching her.

‘I love you, Albus,’ he whispered to the man hiding inside the woman’s body, the soul that shivered in her bones. ‘I love you so much.’

‘I love you too, Harry.’ The voice breathless and needy.

The rest happened so easily, so naturally, with one action flowing into the next like currents in the sea. Harry was bound along by his pounding heart and throbbing erection, thrusting his hips in a fierce rhythm, falling and rising and crashing down again. Beneath him, the woman’s body was warm and wet and impossibly soft, trembling in response to every movement.

There was no question that “she” was enjoying it, moaning and gasping in a voice that could not have been less like a man’s and nothing like Albus’s. And yet, Harry understood that when he moved inside her it was Albus he was fucking, and it was Albus’s pleasure that made the woman’s body quiver and her voice rise high and loud.

‘I love you,’ he said again. ‘I love you, Albus. I love you.’

**

He continued to hold the girl as her body changed, soft fat melting away to sinew and bone, even though Albus tried to wriggle away, ashamed.

‘It’s okay,’ Harry whispered, running his fingers through the man’s long hair. ‘I don’t mind. Please let me hold you.’

The colour in Albus’s hair was the last thing to go, staying defiantly vibrant for some time after the young flesh had faded. Whatever magic Albus had used was proving itself more resilient than expected. Only very slowly did the auburn red faded to orange, then gold, and eventually silver, and some strands still glittered yellow-bright in the light.

‘It’s like ageing a hundred years a minute,’ Harry commented, hugging the man’s bony shoulders.

‘I know,’ Albus muttered. ‘Ghastly.’

Harry chose not to argue, though he had found the process more curious than repulsive. Albus was taller than the woman had been, so his body had spread out and lengthened, but the overall the effect had been one of shrinking as flesh vanished from all the places where it had previously been and the skin shrivelled and wrinkled. Albus seemed much smaller now and more vulnerable.

‘I came inside,’ Harry said quietly. ‘Is that okay?’

Albus chuckled. ‘Of course it’s okay. I’m not going to get pregnant.’

‘Well, I wasn’t sure what was possible. With Polyjuice.‘

‘It’s not possible,’ Albus assured him. ‘It’s only a temporary illusion. Skin-deep, so to speak.’ Then he asked, ‘Did you like it?’

‘I think it’s pretty obvious I did,’ Harry said. ‘I’d like to do it again, if you would? Not now, I mean, but later. Another time.’ _And another and another._

‘Yes. As often as you like. There’s plenty of potion left and I can always make some more.’

‘Not too often though,’ Harry said anxiously.

Polyjuice Potion wasn’t supposed to have any long-term adverse effects but as far as he was aware no one had ever taken it consistently and lived to tell the tale. For all he knew Polyjuice Potion could be very dangerous if taken too often or for too long and he wasn’t about to gamble with Albus’s life. Not for anything.

‘I would not object to once a week,’ Albus suggested. ‘That would be quite manageable.’

‘Alright,’ Harry agreed. ‘Fine by me. More than fine.’

He cuddled closer to Albus, bare skin to bare skin, as it had never been before.

‘You know I love you just the way you are, though.’

It was not quite the truth but not quite a lie. Things were far more complicated than that.

‘Love and lust are quite different beasts,’ Albus said, putting the matter quite succinctly.


	10. Chapter 10

They developed a way of talking about “the girl” as if she were a completely separate entity, the third person in their relationship who only turned up one hour at a time to facilitate sex.

Whenever Harry appeared to be in a particularly excitable mood Albus would ask him teasingly, ‘Would you like to see your girlfriend?’

To which, Harry would reply, ‘Yes, please. Do be a dear and go get her.’

It was not quite a threesome, as there only the two of them engaging in the act, but the presence of the girl was more than flesh and bone. Harry thought of it like a possession because whenever Albus wore the girl’s body he seemed to absorb part of her feminine essence. He moved and talked more like a woman and quite unlike his usual self.

Albus seemed to enjoy playing the game and spent plenty of time dressing up and preparing prior to the actual transformation. He always wore a new dress, make-up and even jewellery, although everything would be removed in the first ten minutes. Harry liked peeling away the layers of silk and satin, like unwrapping a present, but felt guilty for so quickly dismantling what had taken Albus so long to create.

It was for this reason that he had suggested they take things one step further and go out on a date. Albus had agreed right away and they went out to dinner in Edinburgh. Albus took a supply of Polyjuice Potion with him so he could top up his wine glass throughout the evening.

The girl wore a deep purple cocktail dress with a plunging neckline and a sparkling diamond collar. Matching earrings glittered from her ears and she spent so much of her time smiling that her overall appearance was nothing short of dazzling.

‘Have you ever thought you might like to be a woman all the time?’ He asked her, hoping that Albus would not misunderstand the question. He did not mean to imply that he would prefer it that way.

‘Oh no,’ the girl laughed. ‘It’s too much trouble for every day. Not even real women can keep it up constantly.’

‘It’s expensive too, I imagine.’ Harry smiled, indicating all the diamonds.

‘What these?’ The girl’s dainty hands flew to her earlobes. ‘These are just pebbles from the courtyard. I wouldn’t waste my gold on jewels. That’s your inheritance, after all. The dress is Dior,’ she admitted, ‘but I’ll take it back later. I’ve already confounded the shop assistant into letting me exchange it eight different times so I’m getting my money’s worth.’

‘You are awful,’ Harry said fondly, ‘and don’t talk about leaving me money. I’ve got plenty of gold from my parents, not to mention that salary you pay me. Just you concentrate on staying alive as long as possibly. I’d give up everything I own for one day more with you.’

‘That’s so sweet,’ the girl sighed, reaching over to take his hand. ‘I feel the same, you know I do, but I’ve got to leave it someone.’

‘Leave it to a charity. For orphans.’

**

The papers soon got wind of the date and published stories about Harry being sighted with “a mystery red-head.” Harry received a flurry of owls from well-wishers who all seemed delighted that he was at last “looking to settle down.”

“You deserve a bit of happiness, after what you’ve been through,” wrote one correspondent, which reminded Harry so much of a poison-pen letter that Hermione had received, back when they were kids, that he wondered whether it was from the same person.

Draco Malfoy, Harry’s now best friend and sometimes lover, found the whole thing highly amusing and kept asking Harry if he could arrange a real threesome. Harry always declined, telling Draco that the situation was too complicated, without elaborating further.

When he and Albus were together though it didn’t really feel complicated. Not anymore. He ran his fingers through the girl’s auburn hair and murmured to her lovingly.

‘You’re my special girl. Aren’t you?’

**

He dreamt of his girl one night. She laughed with Albus's voice and looked at him with Albus's eyes and moved like a flame, dancing in the wind. When he woke he was hungry for her and reached across the bed.

Albus stirred beside him, beneath him, soft and willing for moment and then anxious and uncertain.

'Harry, do you want - I can get - '

'Shhh. It's fine. Just let me.

He knew what he was doing from all his sleepovers with Draco. His wand was in his hand in seconds and he was casting the spell to clean and lubricate. Then he was sliding into place between Albus's legs.

The strange thing was that it didn't feel any different. Albus moaned and panted the same way he always did. His girl was there just there, beneath the surface, shuddering and spasming and radiating heat.

Lying there afterwards, breathless and spent, he felt a tremendous sense of relief. He knew now that he could get to his girl even without a potion. She was there, waiting for him, nestled in the web of Albus's nerves, beating at the core of his heart.

**

After that, he no longer perceived Albus's female side as something he put on, like a costume, but something that was fully part of him and ever-present. Everyone saw Albus as strong, powerful and utterly in control, but Harry saw his softness and vulnerability.

It made him want to care for him like a child, to wrap his arms around him and carry all his weight. He expressed his feelings in small touches and gestures, and fresh endearments.

'Are you warm enough, my love? Shall I fetch your cloak?'

Albus seemed happier than he’d ever been. Despite what he had said, Harry suspected Albus had felt insecure about Harry's apparant lack of attraction to him. Now that they had finally made love in their own bodies, those doubts had melted away.

'No matter what happens, I'll always love you,' Harry told him and meant it.

Albus smiled contentedly and Harry could see in his eyes that he believed him and felt the same way.

'I love you with all of my heart,’ said Albus. ‘Always have, always will.’

**

The time came for Scorpius to attend Hogwarts and Harry watched him file in with all the other students with his heart in his throat. Scorpius searched for his face too, along the teacher’s table, and gave him a shy smile when he found him.

‘I want to an update every week,’ Draco had instructed Harry, when they were last together. ‘How he’s doing in class, who he’s spending his time with, what games he’s playing and what jokes he’s telling, and if he gets so much as a nosebleed I want a full report from Madame Pomfrey.’

‘It’s not really my job to spy on the children for their parents,’ Harry objected.

To which Draco said sneeringly, ‘Of course it is! Anyway, it’s not spying. I love him.’ As if the one cancelled out the other.

Harry waited, with baited breath, for the Sorting Hat to make its decision. It took a lot longer than with Draco, but eventually bellowed out, ‘SLYTHERIN!’ For all the school to hear.

Harry clapped along with the rest and grinned down at Scorpius as he scrambled off the stool, but he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. If Scorpius only had been in his house he would have been able to watch over him far more closely and help him out if he got into any trouble.

However Professor Orwelle would treat Scorpius fairly though, serving up both punishment and praise as needed. She was an excellent Head of House, always taking the time to listen to her charges and think about what was best for them. Harry would have struggled to be quite so impartial, even though he had dealt with so many other students over the years. Scorpius was just too special to him.

‘Seeing him here must be hard for you,’ Albus murmured, as the applause died away and the next student was called.

‘In what way? Harry asked. Not because he disagreed but because there were many possible answers.

‘It must make you think about what it would have been like with your own children,’ said Albus. ‘Assuming you would have settled down around the same time as Draco, then they would start around the same time.’

Harry nodded and lowered his voice. ‘I like to think they would have been friends with Scorpius, that they would have played together when they were little. Probably not, though. If Ginny were still alive, we probably wouldn’t have grown so close.’

‘Defininity not, I would say,’ Albus said, raising his silvery eyebrows. ‘Unless Ginny was a lot more open-minded than I took her for.’

‘Oh, you know what I mean,’ Harry laughed.

**

Stretched out in the bathtub, Harry tried to imagine what his and Ginny’s children would have been like. They would have probably had a large family, although not as large as the Weasleys. Three or four, perhaps. Would they have been dark-haired or ginger? Pale-skinned and freckled? With brown eyes or green?

For a boy, Harry would have liked the name James. For a girl, Lily. He wondered whether Lily had any preferences for names. Perhaps she would have liked to have honoured someone in her family. Harry smiled for a moment as the words James Billius Potter flashed though his mind. If he had another boy, would he be ... Albus? Would Ginny mind that? She’d have no reason to object though. If she were alive, Harry and Albus would never have become lovers.

He imagined James as a troublemaker, like his grandfather and his uncles. He would fun and cheeky and confident, in a way that Harry had never been. Lily would be more like her mother, still bright and funny, but sweet too, as all little girls were. Then Albus and... Alicia? Or, no, Iris, to keep with the flower theme. They would be smart, sensitive children, close in age and great friends. Twins, perhaps?! They were supposed to run in the family.

His children would have all been happy and secure. They would have had the love of their parents and the friendship and companionship of each other. A warm, close-knit family. Sure, they would have fought with each other sometimes. Didn’t all siblings? There would be broken toys and tears at bedtime and random acts of underage magic, but nothing that couldn’t be repaired with kindness and conversation.

In his mind’s eyes Harry smiled over all his children all stood in a row at the station for the Hogwarts Express. He embraced them all in turn and then let them go forever.

God takes with one hand and gives with another, he thought as he drained the water and stepped out of the bath. Albus was waiting for him, young and red-haired, with a smile on his face and a towel in his hand.


End file.
